Word: sadnesses
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Humbert's sad obsession with twelve-year-old Dolores Haze went off in the U.S. of the late '50s like a shot in church. At first, U.S. publishers were afraid to touch it. Vera was afraid Nabokov might lose his job at Cornell if they did. When it finally came out, reviewers, not yet used to such material in "serious literature," flew into rages of indignation and feigned boredom. New York Times Critic Orville Prescott, in particular, earned a gargoyle's niche in literary history by exclaiming, "Dull, dull, dull." But Lolita in due course was recognized as the masterpiece...
...sad, guilt-ridden thirty-year-olds can't understand the utter elasticity of the youthful perception. A man who spends his life working for change through teaching or preaching or doctoring can't be blamed for resenting the arrogant put-down of his life's effort...
THERE HAS been an everlasting sad waste of energy in wrongly viewing twelve-tone music as satanic chaos perpetrated by diabolic madmen solely toward the death of music. It is true that the danger of Schoenberg's techniques is their elegant simplicity. In the hands of a master they can be a revelatory means to expression, while in the grip of an ordinary musical merchant they can depreciate into rococo pyrotechnics, vapid and uncommunicative. The calumny heaped upon Schoenberg is disgraceful. He sought not to create "modern" music but to allow music to speak her feelings in the modern...
Caires spent more than two days looking for the freshman who downed the striker. "I was delighted when I saw that picture in the paper," Caires said. "I thought, here is the actual redemption for this sad affair. These crosses were profaning the Harvard Yard...
There's Little Walter, sputtering on a slush dirt sidewalk, trying to find his way to a gig at Pepper's; there's Hank Williams, the bad cowboy, but he was sad, too, man. Stoic on the floor, the sad-bad hillbilly. Crazy Dylan flagging down huge trucks on Highway 61, the Automatic Kid, Energy Beam Rocker. He can't catch anything, just hold his collar to his neck and fall back when the wind hits him. Charly Parker smiling, no black revolt for him, it's all very foggy, bip-bop, if you would be so kind...